


Avatar

by Von



Series: The Son of Gaia [1]
Category: Avatar (2009), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AlmostNoRomance, Avatar story set on Earth, Cults, Experimental!Relationship, Harry Potter-centric, Het and Slash, Mildly Dubious Consent, More serious dubcon in a way nobody ever seems to notice or care about, Original Character(s), Other, Pandora gets a visit, Robot Feels, Robots, Saviour!Harry Potter, Sexbots, Temporary!Relationship, The order in which I think of these tags seems very telling, Trigger warning for people who don't believe in dubcon, world-building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-04-22 09:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Von/pseuds/Von
Summary: Harry defeated Voldemort with a power he knew not, a power far more valuable than his freedom. Sealed away until next he was needed, the Wizarding Saviour slept through the fall of his race, of magic and almost the world.Now he has been woken, the last avatar of a dead species and a being whose purpose is so old that only the bones of the Earth remember.





	1. Chapter 1

“ _-We're coming to you live from what's been dubbed 'The Arthurian Tomb'-”_

**click** _  
_

“ _-An incredible discovery by two amateur archaeologists-”_

**click**

“ _-r Patrick White has confirmed that what was discovered here is like nothing else ever found before-”_

**click**

“ _-the rumours of a perfectly preserved human have spread through the-”_

**click**

“ _-is now believed to still be alive-”_

**click**

“ _-carbon dating of the surrounding area-”_

**click**

“ _-experts maintain the object is far too recent to be the-”_

**click**

“ _-no evidence of the technology used to preserve the still-living human has yet been found-”_

**click**

“ _-being hailed as the mystery of the millennium-”_

Phillip Maine, one of the many senior executives of various companies that acted as the governmental branch of the country, ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered this new situation.

It was an irritation that the archaeological dig's treasure had been outed so thoroughly to the public. What had seemed like a minor discovery had unraveled rapidly into something that had almost every scientist in their employ salivating for a chance to examine.

A living human being, from centuries before the Earth was pushed over the edge. A body unspoiled, untainted by the toxins that had inevitably affected the evolution of their race, although that piece of information was beyond top secret.

But beyond that was the _how_ of the situation. They'd had their own people in and all over the site by now and the lack of technology was absolute. There was no scientific explanation for how one adolescent male apparently went to sleep in the late 20th century and stayed there. A glass coffin was his only protection from the elements and it wasn't even hermetically sealed. He should have been nothing but a pile of bones and yet once the muck had been wiped from the glass, there he was.

Alive.

Any suspicion of a hoax was laid to rest with a simple, discrete blood test.

So with no evidence of how this apparent immortality had been done, they had only one source of information left.

The boy himself.

And by now, it would be near impossible to spirit him away discretely. The whole world was fascinated and excited by his existence, the news networks capitalising on it by whipping up a 'King Arthur' frenzy. A few entirely separate extremist groups were hailing him as a saviour.

It _could_ be done, of course, if needs must. But it could very well be unnecessary. For now they would watch, and wait.

_Earth_

Harry hadn't gone to sleep, he'd been imprisoned.

The door that Dumbledore had mentioned in the Ministry – the one that lead to a power greater than any other?

_That_ had been the power 'the Dark Lord knows not'.

Love.

What a load of crap.

He'd been the result of successful breeding, nothing more. Born with the recessive gene needed to tap into the power behind the door. The accumulated life force of the entire world.

Harry's desperation-driven focus had been all that was needed. His affinity for the power had done the rest. The energy had surged, Voldemort was destroyed and victory was had. All within seconds of opening the door.

Immediately after, he'd been put down. Knocked unconscious and carried away, the door slamming shut again in his absence.

Not by Death Eaters, but the Unspeakables.

Apparently, they were Dumbledore's 'other' secret group. His inner circle, as it were. They'd known the plan. Known what he was bred for. Known what his whole life had been training him for.

And they knew the plan for _after_ Voldemort's defeat.

They'd filled him in after they woke him, already spelled into paralysis. They explained that he was _special_ , that he was a champion. That the world needed him. That there were no others like him.

That they had been charged with his protection, so that future generations could call upon him in the hour of their greatest need.

They wanted him to understand, they said, since they would probably be long gone the next time he woke. They'd handled him with utmost care, spoken to him with genuine respect, obtained and stored for him all of his most valuable possessions along with sacks of gold and gems.

Then they'd forced a potion down his throat and the next thing he knew, he was waking up cold and stiff to a veritable crowd of people, not one of whom held the slightest buzz of magic.

“ _No._ ” He croaked.

_**Earth** _


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Easy, lad. Everything's alri'ght.”

One of the Muggles, a man with close-shaved, thinning hair and kind eyes, spoke. His voice was professionally soothing, the voice of a man used to coaxing unconscious people awake.

There was something vaguely familiar about him - an accent he couldn't quite place.

“My name's Bill. I'm a nurse at the Eastern Central hospital. How're you feelin'?”

“What's the date?” Harry replied instead. His body was slow with the lethargy that comes from being woken from a deep sleep, but his mind was as sharply awake as the day the Unspeakables had captured him.

To wake now, not to the face of a familiar Wizard (or to any Wizards, oh god, to _Muggles_ ) but to strangers, meant that at least part of their plan had worked.

He had slept, and the world moved on without him.

The only question was: how far? What was left of the people he'd known, his chosen family?

Were any of them even alive? Had they told their children about him?

Would he have someone to go home to?

“It's January 5th, 2147.” Another man butted in, moving forward and ignoring the nurse's disapproving glare. He wore something on his shoulders, almost like the rugby armour he'd seen Dudley strut about in once or twice. A bright light shone from his left shoulder and something round and dark - and mobile - whirred and clicked and shifted from his right.

“What's your name? When did you go to sleep?” He continued, leaning forward with the sort of hunger that Colin once had, though without even a fraction of the boy's innocence.

“None of your damn business.” Harry said sharply, sitting up despite Bill's hand pushing gently on his shoulder. He looked around again. The room he was in was small, but expensive looking. The entire right wall was made of glass, through which he could see the tops of trees. Far beyond them, another building - or maybe more of this one - extended from one side to the other, a wall of glass walls, shimmering blue.

Around him was a collection of Muggle equipment, through with rather less wires than expected. The wall behind him hummed softly with power and a glance over his shoulder found the bottom of a large.. well, television, he supposed. One of the fancy flat ones that Dudley had been demanding, right before...

Well. Before.

It was set into the wall and showing a lot of medical stuff the significance of which he could only guess at.

He looked back at the people in the room.

Aside from Bill the nurse and the pushy shoulder-guy, there were no less than five people in suits, a couple of people dressed nicely but less formally and behind them all lurked two young women wearing the same style of clothing as Bill. More nurses?

There was a chuckle from one of the suited women. “Looks like we won't be needing a translator, at least.” She noted, smiling a little. One of the formally-dressed-but-not-suited people slumped a little.

The woman stepped forward.

“Good afternoon. My name is Gillian Maine. I'm the public liaison for the United States Government, which oversees the land where you were discovered. You were brought here just under a week ago. May I ask your name?”

Harry looked around again, tried to ignore the shoulder-guy's eager shuffling, and gave his first name only.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry.” The woman replied smoothly. “Please allow me to introduce everyone else and then I will be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

“To my right” She gestured towards a guy who stood slightly stooped like an old man, yet his face was smooth and unlined, his hair thick and dark. “Is Doctor Maudlin. He's the Chief of Medicine here and has been personally responsible for your care.”

The doctor smiled stiffly, dark eyes openly scrutinising.

“To his right is David McGregor, a representative from the RDA. They've volunteered to cover your rehabilitation and reeducation costs.”

Harry eyed the man, because _that_ didn't sound foreboding at _all._ David McGregor just waved back at him with two fingers, quirking a quick smile before turning back to a thin, transparent sheet of glass or plastic held in his other hand. It flickered with light at every touch.

“To my left is Mary Schwartz, CEO of Pepsi-Cola.”

…Sorry, _what_?

A woman with blonde hair and vaguely Asian features gave a tight-lipped smile, one long blue-green nail tapping restlessly against her thigh.

“And to her left is Michael. He will be your bodyguard until such time as he is no longer needed.”

At this, Harry blinked.

Michael was a dark-skinned man who stood a head taller than every other person in the room. He nodded, once, when Harry met his eyes, but gave no other greeting - or expression. His suit, now that Harry was paying attention, didn't look quite as sleek as everyone else's and wasn't buttoned up in the front. Something about the lay of the material - and the fact that he was a Muggle - made Harry wonder if he was packing a gun or two.

Unfortunately, Harry's experience with bodyguards came from the Order of the Phoenix. More prison guards than guardians. It was difficult to think of this well-muscled Muggle as anything different.

“The man next to you is Marcus Hight,” The government woman's tone turned sour. “He's with the GNN - the Global News Network.”

_That_ explained why the guy got on his nerves. A bloody reporter! Which meant the thing on his shoulder was most likely a camera of some sort and had been recording away all this time.

  
Bloody hell. He couldn't even have a second of privacy?

Either the liaison read his expression like a book, or she felt the same way.

“Don't worry. Although he is permitted to record freely, the content will be reviewed and edited before being released for public consumption.”

She went on to introduce the last two non-suited people (nurses not ranking introductions, apparently) but Harry only vaguely caught that one was a linguist and the other a historian. His head was already swimming with too many names, too much information to process - and below it all, a constant thrum of _2147 2147 2147_.

It had been 1997 when he'd been imprisoned.

He tuned out completely as he counted forward in his mind.

Plus 3 to 2000.

147 plus 3.

It had been one hundred and fifty years.

That was longer than Dumbledore had lived.

And yet.. in a way...  
  
He looked around again.

It didn't feel like _long enough_. Not for something considered by the Unspeakables to be priceless beyond measure, and hidden as such, to be found by _Muggles_.

What _happened?_

He asked exactly that, not even realising he was interrupting the liaison. At her hesitation, he clarified.

“Where did you find me? How?”

There was a slight pause. The woman gestured the historian forward.

The man brightened, edging around so that the reporter's shoulder camera could get a good look at him.

“After the terrorist attacks in Wiltshire, England, about three years ago, an archaeological dig found the remains of Stonehenge.” The bony man babbled, more to the camera than to Harry. “It was very shocking, of course, as it had simply disappeared some time in 2050. England, which was then an independent nation, was consumed with problems caused by the climate change of the time. Radical weather shifts, climate refugees, flood migrations - the usual. By the time they could spare anyone to investigate it, all that was left were deep indents filled with chalk. It sparked quite a lot of debate amongst-”

  
The liaison cleared her throat.

“Oh, right, yes.” The man coughed and wiped his palms on his jacket. “Well, anyway, once Weyerhaeuser inc set up their global HQ there, they became a target for eco-terrorists upset about deforestation. In 2141, they successfully detonated a bomb that not only devastated the building but tore up quite a lot of the land surrounding it. During the recovery efforts, fragments of bluestone were found - something not natural to the area and which sparked a revival of Stonehenge interest. Soon enough, an RDA-funded dig discovered the remains of Stonehenge _eighty meters_ below ground. In its entirety!”

The historian was clearly, genuinely, passionate about this. He'd even stopped paying attention to the reporter, staring wide-eyed at Harry instead.

“It was as though the stones had simply _sunk_ _beneath the earth_!” He cried, hands fluttering. “The mechanics involved, well... some people thought it was an engineering student's prank, or a different sort of terrorism - denying the country the artifact, or perhaps some sort of defacement or vandalism. But, in the light of your discovery-”

The liaison cleared her throat again, a little more sharply.

“Right, yes, right. Sorry.” The man licked his lips and turned away a little, hunching.

“Anyway, the stones were removed to be displayed in greater security - and where they couldn't be so easily damaged as they had been before. The dig was abandoned and only school trips or die-hard amateur archaeologists have visited it since.”

The historian looked him straight in the eye, like a man beholding unspeakable treasure.

“ _However_ , a couple of weeks ago, one amateur team found an _entrance_. Into an underground cave, below where Stonehenge had sunk, where you yourself lay sleeping.”

He stopped then, expectantly, awaiting a response.

A response Harry couldn't give him.

Stonehenge had.. sunk? It had to have been magically done, obviously, but _why_? And all that stuff about climate change, spoken of like world war two - an unpleasant but well-known incident referred to flippantly by anyone not actually involved.

And...

“England... 'used to be' an independent nation?” He said hoarsely.

“Yes, yes.” The historian brushed it aside impatiently. “After its GDP crashed, an arrangement was made with the United States - in 2073, I believe - whereby 'The United Kingdom' and all nations within became protectorates of the United States of America.”

He seemed to be waiting for something more, probably an explanation, but as far as Harry was concerned, he could wait forever.

Something had happened to the world - something that affected everybody, not just Muggles. Climate affected even Wizards, surely. An influx of people, terrorists, changing locations... and Wizards had sunk Stonehenge for some reason, but why? It was important to them, he knew that much. His history of magic books, which covered more than just Goblin rebellions, had mentioned how it was a protected area in the treaty with the Muggle Prime Minister, which was why the Muggles had laws about leaving it there.

Had the English government fallen? Had the Wizards taken matters into their own hands and hidden themselves and their 'territories' even further?

What had happened? He wanted to ask again, but of course, none of these Muggles could have the answers. They probably thought _he_ did.

He needed a Witch or Wizard. Any. At this point, he'd even take a bastard like Snape over this horrible, nauseating _not knowing_.

He swallowed.

“I'm tired.” He said distantly, voice still strained and hoarse like he'd been shouting.

The historian frowned and so did the liaison - the reporter looked almost angry - but it was enough for Bill the nurse to take command. With polite but unflinching authority - his accent thickening slightly, just enough that he almost sounded like Professor McGonagall - he herded everyone out, including his own boss. Only him and the bodyguard remained, although he gave the bodyguard a warning glare.

The man - the solider - just stood out of the way against the wall, keeping the entrance, Harry, the nurse and the large window within his sights.

“No worries, Harry.” The nurse assured him, reaching out to help him lie back down. Harry let him, his senses floating loose and free. The nurse darted a quick look up at the telly and drew a small clear half-bulb from somewhere. It looked like a breathing mask, but smaller and without any tubing.

“Just relax and take some deep breaths for me.” Bill said automatically, fiddling with the battery-like pack on the mask until it started to hiss. “I've just got some oxygen here to help you out, but if you feel tired mate, you just go on and have a nap.”

He rested the mask over Harry's mouth and nose and it was only due to the fact that he didn't try to hold it there or tie it on, that Harry allowed it to remain.

It actually seemed to wake him up a little, enough that he turned on his side and raised a hand to keep it in place.

Bill placed a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

“It'll all be alright, Harry.” The nurse promised quietly. “I know yer probably scared, but everything will be okay. Yer a bit famous and that's why there's such a fuss, but the RDA has volunteered to take care of you so even when the fuss dies down, you'll still be well off.”

He moved away then, and Harry's gaze fell naturally to the man leaning against the wall before him.

His bodyguard, Michael.

The man's dark eyes were watchful, but not of Harry himself.

It was strangely reassuring.

“Just sleep, lad.” Bill encouraged, now standing at the edge of his bed and doing something with something else that beeped. “It'll all be better in the morning.”

With little else to do except freak out, Harry closed his eyes, and slept.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Incredibly, despite spending over a century in sleep (although a dreamless, magicked sleep might not count), Harry slept through the afternoon and night quite soundly.

He woke to slowly intensifying light and the sound of birdsong, none of which he recognised. He was facing the window but his bleary eyes couldn't pick out where the sun was rising from. The distant glass wall still shimmered blue and there were no obvious shadows anywhere. Vaguely figuring it to be overcast outside he turned on his back, rubbing his eyes.

Which lead to a discovery that woke him right up.

His glasses were gone - and yet he could see. Perfectly, even, better than he had _with_ his glasses. His vision was unrestricted, no limit of peripherals whatsoever.

Stunned, he looked around the room. It was empty, save for Michael who appeared to be sleeping in a chair against the wall. He held a gun loosely but surely in one hand.

Had the Wizards done this? He hadn't noticed it last night, but now that he thought about it he could remember the lack of glasses then, too. Nothing pressing against his nose or skull, nothing to bump as he held the mask against his face.

Well, whatever the cause… it was good. And now, thoroughly awake and disinclined to lay about and wait for another Muggle to come and talk at him, he carefully pushed aside the thin but soft blanket and slipped out of bed to go look through the window.

Or would have, had the bed not started beeping shrilly the second his body left it.

He felt more than heard Michael wake, the man on his feet within seconds and striding towards the bed, gun tucked away out of sight.

Harry shifted slightly in the expectation of being grabbed or yelled at, but the man simply stabbed at the foot of the bed with one finger, silencing the alarm as a nurse - not Bill - barreled through the door.

The woman hesitated slightly under Michael's dark-eyed regard and slowed from a run to a walk as she circled the bed to Harry's side. Harry, for his part, slipped nimbly away from her reaching hand to be closer to the window.

“I'm sorry for causing any alarm.” He apologised preemptively. “I didn't know to turn the... the bed off before leaving it. But I'm quite alright, thank you for checking.”

The woman frowned a little, something not quite sour touching her expression. Harry didn't think she was offended so much as unenthused with patients brushing her off.

But he was _not_ a patient. He was just a guy who'd woken up from _a very long nap_ , thank you very much.

“...I'll call Doctor Maudlin.” The nurse conceded after a moment and a quick glance at the telly over his bed. “In the meantime, I'll get you some breakfast.”

She left before he could decline, probably banking on either her words or the guard to keep him from just leaving.

Unable not to push the issue, to _know_ where the lines were, Harry turned to his guard and flat out asked him.

“If I wanted to leave, right now, what would you do?”

The guard looked at him, glanced at the telly on the wall himself and then looked back.

“I'd escort you to stores for some street-wear and an exopack, and then I'd follow you wherever you went.” He answered promptly. “You're physically well enough not to need the hospital, and my job is to protect you - not restrict you.”

Harry couldn't prevent his eyebrows from raising.

That was... unexpected.

“Um.. thanks.” He said belatedly. Michael just nodded once and returned to his position against the wall, apparently a man of few words.

Harry turned back to the window, hands pressed against it as he looked out.

The wall of glass in the distance was clearly a part of the same building he was in. It curved around on both sides to make a circular building. Inside the circle of glass were a bunch of slightly off-looking trees and some just-visible paved areas beneath them. He couldn't see any grass or water from here, but (perhaps more weirdly) he couldn't see any of the birds which he could still hear either.

He looked up and was somewhat startled to realise that the 'garden' was completely enclosed. Instead of a sky, there was just one high stretch of glowing-blue. A ceiling of some sort, or maybe blue-smoked glass? It wasn't transparent, whatever it was.

He looked back down, at the trees which didn't stir. Maybe that was why they looked off. No natural light, no wind and probably no rain.

Poor trees.

Then the nurse was back, carrying a tray bearing a covered bowl and a glass of water. Following her into the room was one of the suited guys from the night before. From the state of his suit and the disarray of his hair, he seemed to have spent the night at the hospital.

As the man moved around the nurse to touch a panel in the wall - which caused part of the wall to _slide out_ and form a small table with two benches on either side of it - Harry recognised him as the man representing the company that had volunteered to 're-educate' him. Great.

The nurse set the tray down, gave him a practiced speech about the necessity of finishing his meal before he could be discharged from the hospital and left.

The suited guy sat down on the other side of the table and Michael stayed against the wall, folded arms allowing his hand to stay close to his gun.

The rumple-suited guy smiled as Harry joined him and held out his hand.

“David McGregor.” He reintroduced himself with a smile, as Harry shook hands and sat down opposite him. “I figured the odds were good that you'd have forgotten me by now. We kinda hit you with a lot yesterday.”

Despite himself, Harry returned the man's smile with a small one of his own.

“Understatement.” He agreed, lifting the lid off of his bowl and trying not to wrinkle his nose at the soup within.

It smelled... exotic.

Still, his stomach was beginning to rumble at him, so he picked up the spoon and gave it a sip.

“How's it taste?” McGregor asked him with a watchful smile.

Harry blinked and licked his lips.

“Salty.” Was his first response. _Weird_ was his internal reaction. But then, everything here was weird.

“And a little spicy... is this.. Indian or something?”

He didn't exactly know much of anything about foreign food. The stuff on offer at Hogwarts during the TriWizard Tournament was as exotic as he'd ever experienced and even _that_ was still European. His Aunt and Uncle sometimes went out for Indian food, though, and brought some home for Dudley. The scent was kind of similar to this soup.

“Or something.” McGregor chuckled. “It's called 'curry soup' but I'm pretty sure the actual spices are grown in Australia, for all that the box art is Chinese. But I guess, that's globalism for you.”

“...Right.” Harry answered, taking another spoonful. He might not like it, but if it had to be eaten before he could get out, then it would bloody well be eaten.

“So, if it's alright with you, I thought I'd take the chance to explain a few more things?” McGregor offered. He seemed friendly rather than impatient, so Harry nodded.

“Great! So, as I said, I'm David and I work for the RDA. The RDA stands for Resources Development Administration and is a company that operates on Earth and in the black in a range of capacities, but primarily in mining and refinement. It's one of the largest companies in the world and provides an income for billions of people.” He smiled then, a little wryly. “And if you're wondering why a company focused on mining and development is taking the time to foster some random kid, famous or not, well it's mostly a PR thing. The RDA's name has been associated with your discovery, for all that a couple of non-associated people actually found you. Therefore, if you were left to the streets it'd cause a hell of a lot of bad press for the company, thus their generous - but not insincere - offer to take care of you.”

Harry just made a non-committal sound and dropped his eyes back to his soup.

“And what exactly does 'taking care of me' entail?” He asked quietly.

“Well, him, for one.” David nodded his head at Michael. “He's part of the RDA's SecOps - security operatives. He's ex-military to boot, so you're in good hands.” He visibly hesitated, before continuing.

“You see, Harry... as you might be aware, a lot of people know of your existence. So for crowd control alone, you're going to need some protection. But, well... it's a sad fact that there are a lot of messed up people in the world. People who might want to kill you, just because you're a known figure. Not to mention the normal muggers, crack-heads, murderers etc that plague any civilisation. I'm sure you'll be fine!” He hastened to add. “But we'd rather be safe than sorry, and it's an easy thing to assign you a bodyguard until - at the very least - the fuss dies down and you're familiar enough with life in this time to take care of yourself.”

To this, Harry nodded slowly. He did have some experience with people believing whatever someone told them, after all. If some idiot got it in their heads that he was.. oh, a vampire or some sort of demon, for being found where and how he was... then yeah, he could probably do with a little protection. For a little while.

“Good.” McGregor seemed relieved. “Now, the RDA has also assigned you an apartment and put aside funds for your education. They've also put a monthly stipend into place for you to spend on whatever you'd like - we'd figured there'd be a lot to catch up on.” The last was said with a conspiratorial grin that made Harry tense. This wasn't a joke. This was his _life_.

“And finally, they've assigned me to you as a sort of... case worker, I suppose. I'm your first point of contact for any questions or concerns you might have. Consider me your personal assistant for all things re-integration. Here.” He slid a watch across the table. “Try that on for size, flat side against the inside of your wrist - either wrist, doesn't matter.”

Harry did so, slipping it over his hand and pressing the underside of the watch against his wrist. His eyes widened as the watch beeped lowly and the strap automatically tightened until it was comfortably secure.

McGregor grinned. “I'm gonna enjoy seeing that expression, I think.” He joked, fiddling with his own watch. After a moment, Harry's began vibrating slightly as it warbled a jaunty tune.

“Just tap it.” McGregor advised, raising his watch hand and pressing his forefinger against his ear. Harry obeyed and, after a moment, awkwardly copied McGregor's position.

“Pretty nifty, huh?” McGregor's voice came from in front of him and, somehow, from the finger pressing against his ear.

“What-how?!” Harry exclaimed, removing his finger to examine it. There were no obvious wires snaking through his skin.  
  
“Vibrations.” McGregor explained. “Pretty old tech, but it cuts down on the amount of phones lost or left behind at restaurants. The microphone is in the watch, which is why I asked you to position it on the inside of your wrist. The phone sends the signal it receives through your hand and to your ear, if you hold a finger against it. You get better sound if you press against the hole and not the bit of skin in front of it, but it works either way. Pretty sweet, right?”

“Y-yeah.” Harry couldn't help but agree, pulling his hand away as there really was no need to use it with the other guy sitting right there. He tapped the watch face again and the call abruptly disconnected. Now the classically round face displayed the time like a miniature television, with a rotating planet in the middle and glowing stars marking the time around the outside.

“It can do a bunch of other stuff too, but we'll get to that later.” McGregor said easily. “For now, finish up your food and I'll take you to your new place. All the stuff we found with you has been transported there, and I'll need you to confirm that we got everything so if something is missing, we can go looking for it.”

Stuff had been stored with him?

Like, maybe, a freaking _explanation_ for what the hell was going on?

He lifted his bowl of soup and chugged it.

McGregor laughed again. Harry ignored him, chased the soup down with the water, then stood.

“Let's go.”

_Earth_

The ride to Harry's new home was a bit odd. Dr Maudlin had arrived just as they were leaving, having apparently gone home and then been roused by the nurse when Harry woke. He was not happy to see his patient leaving without his say-so and only the quick interference of McGregor had been enough to stop the man trying to order Harry back to his room for another round of tests.

Harry didn't want to think about what sort of tests they'd done whilst he was _unconscious_.

Still, he was happy to have escaped into the back of a small car with dark tinted windows and be driven away. The view out the window wasn't that great - all dark steel and grimy roadways lit by the glare of aggressively neon advertisements. When he'd asked about them, McGregor briefly mentioned holograms but seemed more interested in scolding Harry for addressing him by his surname. The man kept up a stream of chatter that was just interesting enough not to be tuned out - like how most nations were governed more by corporations than by governments these days, known as quasi-governmental administrative entities, of which the RDA was one. Harry wasn't quite sure if this was a good thing or not, though McGregor - David - certainly seemed to think it was.

“Money makes the world go round.” David said, when questioned. “And large corporations tend to have a hell of a lot more money-sense than governments comprised of vaguely-educated people elected purely on popularity. They also tend to be better with long-term planning, too. Not to mention, they're beholden to their shareholders but can still make the hard decisions without having to worry about being 'voted out' for unpopular but necessary courses of action.”

Which… did actually make quite a bit of sense. To be fair, Harry _might_ have been somewhat prejudiced against governments in general thanks to his experience with the useless, corrupt, self-glorifying Ministry of Magic. Of course, even despite his approval… it still somehow felt… not quite right.

So distracted by the conversation was he (Australia, of all backwater places, became one of the first QGAE-run countries when the mining billionaires decided they wanted to still be rich after the mines ran dry) that he only realised they'd arrived when the car stopped inside an underground parking structure.

“This way.” David chirped, striding briskly over to a well-lit set of doors. He passed his watch over a discreet panel, which beeped obediently and opened the door. Inside was a luxurious-looking lift, with polished stone flooring and exquisitely-carved wooden paneling.

David pressed the button marked 42 (of 60 possible) and Michael took station in a corner.

“This is an older RDA-owned building.” David informed Harry, rocking slightly on his feet as the lift moved smoothly and silently. “Levels 5 and below are for vehicle and food storage - neither something you should need to worry about. Most people use public transport and the RDA built a link station inside the building for its employees - that's level 29. Each apartment above level 30 has access to automated laundry and washing facilities and the RDA will cover your utilities. Food is delivered automatically - I'll show you where - and level 40 is a shopping and dining level. Anything bought there will come out of your stipend, so be careful.”

The lift slowed, then stopped, and the doors slid open to reveal a softly-glowing hallway. There were no lights - the walls themselves glowed and slowly changed colours. From about shoulder height to the ceiling, an aquarium was built into the wall and ran along the corridor. There were a lot of softly waving plants in it, but not many fish - at least, not in this area.

“Wow.” Harry couldn't help but marvel. It was no moving painting, sure, but it was still magical in its own Muggle way.

“Yeah, not bad.” David agreed. “Not a lot of buildings bother to make their filtration systems so… visible, these days. They get nicer the higher you go. Come on, you're at number four.”

Harry double-took even as he realised that David was referring to apartment number, not Harry's once-home address.

Soon enough they came to door number 424 and David waved for Harry to open it, which he did by copying David's move with the lift and pressing his watch against a discreet sensor. Something solid in the door clicked, and it slid open.

They entered.

The area immediately inside the door was somewhat claustrophobic. David immediately started touching bits of the wall which slid open to reveal storage spaces (some already filled with coats and shoes, others with what looked like breathing masks, of all things) but Harry's attention was arrested by the narrow glass staircase directly in front of them. It led up to a second floor, through which a glimpse of another window could be had. The stairs were free-standing and glowed softly white around the edges. Behind them and on either side were two doors - the laundry and a spare room, David explained, noticing his attention.

Beyond _them_ , immediately behind the staircase was another door, the room behind which David said was usually used as an office - this being an RDA building for RDA workers and all - but Harry was herded up the stairs before he could go look.

At the top of the stairs, he stopped dead.

There was a window before him, the entire far wall was just one big window like at the hospital.

Unlike at the hospital, however, this one looked over the outside. The _real_ outside.

It was... horrible. But, in a pretty sort of way.

The air was hazed so thickly that the sky itself couldn't be seen. There were no trees - not anywhere. But what should have been an ugly expanse of steel-grey cement and metal was brightened and bejeweled by a flood of rainbow lights, carpets of holograms and strings of artificial stars that lit up the haze and connected various towering buildings. Some holograms nearby were of nature-scenes, many buildings had a sort of moving artwork projected onto them (or built into them?), like a movie screen made of cement, iron and glass. Sky trains curved snake-like through the air, following the strings of lights - rails? - through the city.

It was alive and vibrant. Undeniably amazing. Except...

He couldn't see the sky.

He turned around to ask if this was normal for big cities and caught a glimpse of the smaller window on the opposite side of the wedge-shaped apartment. He crossed over to look through it, passing David who was sitting sprawled on a couch, patiently waiting for him.

This window looked over an internal garden, similar to the one at the hospital, though much smaller. The windows he could see from here were also shimmery-blue. He guessed that was a privacy standard. The garden here looked a little better than the hospital one. It was higher, too, with Harry's window being just below canopy level, suggesting it started on the roof of Level 40.

Some of the leaves stirred in a breeze - artificial or otherwise - and if he craned his neck he could see the sky. Or rather, _a_ sky. It wasn't real, he could tell instinctively, but it was a pretty good replica of a powder blue mid-day sky visited by fluffy picturesque clouds. There was no sun, though like at the hospital, light seemed to emanate from above with no visible source.

It was - it _should have_ \- been soothing, compared to the industrial energy of the other window. And yet, it was almost the same but in reverse. Beautiful but horrible. Because it wasn't _real_.

He didn't realise he'd said the last bit aloud until David, with a tone of surprise, answered him.

“That's right. I'm impressed you noticed. Only about a third of the plants in there are real - both to reduce maintenance and to allow them enough room and resources to grow well. All of the trees are very good fakes, though many of them have induced moss growth on them. Most of the air filtration is handled in other parts of the building and piped in, but even having a few real plants in there has added to people's reported sense of well-being, so it's a small task to keep them.”

Harry didn't turn to look at him, afraid his face would broadcast the unexpected revulsion that swamped him.

A small task? To keep a couple of real plants? A flippant disregard for real greenery when the outside world - at least in this part of the country - was absolutely barren of it?

What was _wrong_ with these people?

He took a moment to get himself under control then turned back to his case worker.

“So, uh. Grand tour?” He asked.

David was looking at him with something that might have been compassion or might have been calculation, but both vanished as he leapt to his feet.

“You got it!”

Thus followed a more in-depth whirlwind tour, with Michael dogging Harry's steps dutifully. He was remarkably skilled at always being _right there_ yet never in the way.

The top floor of the apartment was the main living area. Two thirds of the window space looking out over the city was the living/dining room, with a couple of comfortable looking couches and a low table facing the glass.

Behind that space and to the right of the staircase (with a glass railing preventing falls) was a small open-plan 'kitchen', which mostly consisted of storage space for the automatically delivered meals, the slot through which Harry could retrieve new food and some space for cutlery, crockery and cups. There was something that acted like a microwave, or so he gathered, and a small fridge, but no kettle, no cooker and no oven. With minimal equipment and the back wall being one big window to the inside garden, it was more of a designer food-prep area than true kitchen.

On the other side of the staircase and taking up a third of the top floor space was another colour-changing softly-glowing wall. This one seemed content to stay within neutral, soft colours. There were three doors set into it, the middle leading to a bathroom which David took great joy in showing him. He explained that the small tub was considered a luxury due to water shortages, but that the water treatment equipment built into the building meant that baths were something all RDA employees could enjoy.

Harry had a vague feeling that 'water treatment' meant washing in pre-used water, but tried not to think about it too much.

The mirror was pretty standard, although the built-in computer was not. David demonstrated some of the first-aid supplies, including a spray-on plaster for minor injuries and how to run the decontamination shower 'for emergencies'. When Harry asked exactly what sort of emergencies would involve having a decontamination shower built into people's homes _as standard_ , he was waved off with the promise that it would be covered in his schooling.

The other two doors led to simply-furnished bedrooms, the one looking out over the city being slightly larger due to the wedge shape of the apartment. All three walls of both bedrooms (one wall being made of glass) were glowy-walls, the building having apparently been built when such a thing was 'in' but which David said were now considered very outdated.

Back downstairs, David demonstrated how the laundry was really mostly a small room to hang up wet things or wash something small by hand. Clothing and bed sheets went into the 'in' chute and were automatically sorted, cleaned and returned to the 'out' chute within an hour.

Handy.

The office space was the largest room in the apartment, spanning the entire width of the apartment and also looking out over the city. With a desk to the left and a small set of couches to the right, it looked like the office of a rich executive - although slightly barren. Two tall pot plants stood in either corner by the window - drooping just enough to show themselves to be real, if sickly. The desk looked smooth and empty until David demonstrated how a touch _here_ caused a monitor to project itself from within, or a touch _there_ caused a keyboard to light up within the surface of the desk itself.

Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling. For a kid who'd received socks and clothes-hangers for gifts as his cousin received playstations and computers, this was awesome.

And the more David gestured for Harry to try things, the more he saw and touched and _understood_ , the more he realised...

This was all his.

This was his home now. His computer, through which he could explore the world in a way that not even magic had allowed him before. His sort-of-pathetic little pot plants, which he could care for. His walls to decorate (or at least fiddle with until they stopped glowing that god-awful _puce_ ), his couch to sit on, his...

Wait.

“Is, uh. Not to be rude - this is all incredible, and I'm grateful..” He stumbled over his words. “I just - in my time it was common, I er.. I'm just wondering...”

David grinned, then laughed.

“Hub: TV on.” He called out in reply, still grinning.

To Harry's amazement, a large square - larger than the surface of his desk - flickered to life _within the window_ and began displaying a news channel with crystal clear quality.

“Bloody hell...” He breathed, much as his best friend would.

That was.. it was just...

“Amazing.”

He caught himself and glanced away, a little embarrassed. David was _still_ grinning, clearly having a ball introducing the normalities of 22 nd century life to a kid from the 20th century, but even Michael had an amused tilt to his lips.

“Sure is.” David agreed. “Now the 'hub' is basically your apartment's main computer. It's what you use to change anything - ambient temperature, opacity of the windows, TV and music channels/volume etc. You can change the name of it - 'hub' is just the factory default and changing the name can help prevent annoying visitors from messing with your settings. Oh, and it can detect what room you're in, so if you command the TV on, it'll only switch it on wherever you are. It can also follow you.”

He caught the question before Harry even finished forming it.

“Yeah, all the windows are TV-enabled. Most surfaces can interface with it and the main screens can read gestures as well as accept verbal input.”

“Wow.” Harry just replied.

“Yeah, wow.” David smiled, then became a little more serious.

“Now, there's just one room left - the store room. And that's where we put the stuff we found with you.”

He didn't need to say more. Harry left the room at a run, both doors sliding swiftly open for him automatically.

The walls in the store room all began to glow as soon as he stepped inside, revealing a pile of stuff that looked kind of grotty, despite obvious attempts to wipe them down.

A few sacks, a trunk - not his old one, but a fancy-looking stone one - and on top, a single piece of parchment, folded and sealed with wax.

He reached for the wall as his knees went weak but found Michael at his side instead, supporting him silently.

“We didn't open any of it.” David said softly from behind him.

If there was any magic left to them, they probably _couldn't_ have.

He felt for them, hesitantly, more frightened than he'd been since waking.

If even these, precious relics of his old life, had faded...

But no. They were warm to his inner senses, their humming subdued but still _there_. Still magical.

He staggered forward, Michael moving with him, as he reached one shaking hand for the letter resting on top.

_Harry Potter_ was written on the front, in a slightly spiky cursive that he'd recognise anywhere after years of it correcting his homework before he could hand it in and lose them points.

Hermione.

His throat closed with grief as he gripped the letter and broke the seal.

_To my dearest Harry,_

_If you are reading this, then we have failed you, and you are alone._

_The last of Wizard-kind._

He crumpled, a sob wrenching from his throat as his lingering fear was mercilessly proven true. He barely felt a hand on his shoulder - Michael? David's voice was a blur in his ears. The rest of the letter illegible through his tears.

It was over. His life, stolen from him. All for nothing. Not even selfish Wizards to be used by.

He was alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canonically unhealthily invested in his friends-as-family. Thought he'd won. Lost them all.


	4. Chapter 4

_To my dearest Harry,_

_If you are reading this, then we have failed you, and you are alone._

_The last of Wizard-kind._

He crumpled, a sob wrenching from his throat as his lingering fear was mercilessly proven true. He barely felt a hand on his shoulder - Michael? David's voice was a blur in his ears. The rest of the letter illegible through his tears.

It was over. His life, stolen from him. All for nothing. Not even selfish Wizards to be used by.

He was alone.

The letter crackled warningly as he fisted it, the parchment old and close to brittle. Most of the magic in it had been used to protect it from prying eyes and with the seal broken, it would soon fail entirely. When that happened, the letter would most likely crumble to dust.

He opened his eyes and blinked sharply to clear the moisture away, struggling to focus on the letter before it was too late. He didn't notice Michael moving until the large man had already picked him up, his movements swift and impersonal as he carried him back upstairs to the couch - probably on David's direction.

Too distraught to be embarrassed, Harry just slid onto the couch and hunched away from them both, curling around the letter.

_To my dearest Harry._

_If you are reading this, then we have failed you, and you are alone._

_The last of Wizard-kind._

_I am so sorry to have to lay this upon you. There are days when I hope that you will never wake. There are days when I hope that you die sleeping._

_It is currently April of the year 2025. I am 45 years old and I will die soon, just as all Witches and Wizards will die. First our eldest, then our youngest, then those of us in our prime. The general public doesn't believe it - won't believe it. But the Unspeakables know, and there is nothing we can do to stop it. It's already too late._

_I want you to know, I joined the Unspeakables to find you. I worked for them for years, learned a lot,_ did _a lot that I’m not proud of, but when you vanished… I couldn’t just let it go._

_It years before they saw fit to inform me that it was they who had taken you, and why._

_Oh Harry, I think that was the first time I knew true rage. It still burns to think of it, decades later. I rampaged through the department that day, casting every spell the war and the Unspeakables had ever exposed me to. I looked for you even then, dug through every record I could break from the archives._

_I failed. Obviously. I was too angry to be smart about it and it wasn’t long before they put me down. They should have wiped my memory - would have, if the times weren’t so desperate. If I weren’t more useful with my intellect intact. They made me swear an oath not to look for your anymore - I had no choice - but I swear, I tried everything else. For over a decade I worked to gain their trust. To gain the influence needed to reason, to coerce, to beg them to let you free._

_But eventually, I’m sorry, I gave up. I tried for so long but the world around us… it was_ changing _. Muggles were ruining the world and Wizards were ruining_ themselves _. Propaganda was the only truth anymore, war was on the horizon again and. And what could you possibly do? What kind of monster would I be, to wake you up to all that?_

_When the Unspeakables first became aware of the extinction that awaited us they almost brought you back. They were afraid. They couldn’t see a way out. They wanted a a saviour._

_I was the one who convinced them not to. I’m sorry, except I’m not. What they wanted from you was impossible. What they would have done to you to try and get it… was inhumane. Your special power - using it would only have doomed us faster._

_Magic only exists where that power flows to the surface. Wizards need that magic to live. You could pull from the source and collapse a leyline supporting half a county. Having you spend it, for any reason, wasn’t an option. It was too late for us._

_It’s too late for the Muggles too, they just don’t know it yet._

_I write this letter knowing that one day, you **will** wake. Nobody knows what the world will be like then. All the greatest seers work for the Unspeakables, but how can they See when their medium is gone from the future? _

_We know there is no hope but hope is all we have. We have left you supplies, just in case… just in case._

_I miss you. I’m sorry I failed you. Sorrier still that I’ve left you behind._

_All my love,_

_Hermione Granger._

Hunching into himself even further, Harry wrapped his arms around his legs, buried his head and just shut out the world for awhile. His mind spun between the mental image of Hermione visiting his sleeping body - _and leaving_ \- and the mental image of everything and everyone he knew, dying. Just dropping to the ground, or maybe getting sick and passing away in their beds. Ron and his family, a group of fire-haired and fire-tempered people just fading away as the world died and tried to self-correct.

Hogwarts, a school with a thousand years of history, of children growing up and learning and laughing - just gone. Empty and hollow, the magic leaving the paintings just like they were leaving the parchment in his hand. The stone staircases silent and unmoving forever. The fires in torches and hearths, gutted and cold. The house-elves, gone. The mer-people, gone. The centaurs, the giants, the Veela - even the phoenixes. All gone.

And to him, it had only been a matter of days. Hours, really, if you only counted the time he'd spent conscious. Hours, for an entire civilisation, a species, to crumble.

When at length he came back to himself, the sky outside was a blanket of colour, the smog lending itself to beauty as the sun streaked through it in rich oranges and pinks, purples and blues.

The mood in the room was quietly respectful, as Michael leaned against a wall once more and David sat on the other couch and watched the telly with the sound off.

It wasn't until Harry shifted, moving his feet to the floor and scrubbing his face with his sleeves, that either looked over.

“Would you like something to eat?” David asked quietly, when Harry made eye contact. Harry shook his head, refolding the parchment but unwilling to let it go. Unable to speak, he simply stood and trekked back downstairs to the store room.

The sacks were stiff and almost petrified, held together more by the accumulation of clay-like muck than the protective magic once cast on them. The strings holding them closed frayed and snapped as he tugged them open, revealing glittering rubies in one and gold in another. He passed the rest of the sacks and opened the trunk - or tried to. He felt the magic within it tingle with recognition at his touch - stone kept magic better than cloth or paper - but lifting the lid was another thing. It was still stone and stone was _heavy_.

“May I?”

Harry turned. It was Michael, who'd followed him automatically but stood back awaiting permission to approach.

Harry nodded.

Strong arms joined his and heaved, the top of the trunk sliding away once lifted from within.

His firebolt rested on top, diagonal to fit in the trunk. His invisibility cloak was folded and rested on top of a box which had **Potions** carved into the wood. The left side of the trunk was filled with books, the top one of which was his photo album.

He picked it up, opened it and almost started crying again when the pictures inside failed to stir. He leafed through it, but every still, faded photograph was like a kick in the guts, reminding him of what he had lost. When he got towards the end, where newer photos depicted the lives of those who had grown up and passed away without him, he closed it.

“Is everything there?”

David was obviously trying to be respectful, but Merlin... Harry just wanted to punch him in the nose. Or, failing that, hex him stupid.

“I, uh. I just need to know. For the record.” Why couldn't the man just shut _up_?

“I don't know.” Harry said coldly. “I wasn't involved in packing it and it doesn't seem to have come with a list.”

David cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to... Sorry.” As Harry didn't reply, he continued. “Look, why don't you get settled in tonight? Michael can help you with anything you might need and I'll pop by tomorrow, say, lunch time? There are still a few things we need to discuss, a couple of meetings to go to. That sort of thing.”

Harry grunted, which was taken as assent and David made a hasty exit. For a while, Harry simply worked in silence. After the second book that tore too easily in his hands, however, he made a noise of irritation that was close to anguish.

Michael cleared his throat and suggested scanning everything that _could_ be scanned, so Harry could still have the content even if he lost the originals.

It was a good idea, though Harry knew he's grieve the loss of the books themselves more than the information in them. Still, with his bodyguard's help, he moved all the books to what he had decided to call 'the study' and painstakingly helped the computer copy them. This mostly consisted of turning the pages for it, as the scanner was capable of making identical copies of what it could see in only seconds, _and_ capable of recognising new content and only scanning when the content was legible. Many of the books were ruined by the end of it. Chunks of pages breaking off or coming away on his fingertips like dust. Some, like the photo album, had more magic inside them and fared a little better, though even the album's leather was cracked and brittle.

Michael showed him how to work the computer, as quiet and calm about it as he was everything else. He even showed Harry how to encrypt the file, to give himself some basic privacy in case someone ever went snooping on his computer.

Harry wasn't ignorant enough to believe it truly secure, though. Even in _his_ time, computers had been far from unhackable and if his computer could access the internet, then he knew that other computers there could access _his_.

The thing was... he was just _this close_ to not giving a shit.

It wasn't like he'd be facing time in Azkaban for breaking the statute of secrecy, after all. In a way, this was the only revenge he could have against the people who'd denied him his life.

By the time it was all done, it was well past midnight. The room was awash in the unceasing glare of the city's rainbow lights - even more powerful without the dim sun to compete with. Harry shut the computer down and replaced the remains of the books in the stone trunk in the store room, intending to never open it again. The potions box was in his bedroom, along with his firebolt and cloak.

He'd offered his bodyguard first pick of the bedrooms, since both creeped him out in equal measure. Michael just gave him a long, considering look and chose the one facing the city. Whether he picked it for his own sake, or for Harry's, was unclear.

Still, it meant that when he went to bed, he didn't have to order the hub to dim the window. The artificial garden was experiencing artificial night. Artificial stars sparkled above it all and artificial (or at least, heavily filtered) air gently coursed through his room via a hidden vent.

If he burrowed under the covers, he could pretend he _wasn't_ the last magical being on the face of the planet. That he _wasn't_ alone. Somewhere out there, there had to be survivors.

And some day, he'd find them.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Phillip Maine, one of three CEO's of the RDA, glanced down at his pile of notes. All of them were short-term bio-plastic digital screens, easily disposable and most of them were for show.

And to disguise certain others.

One of which was a simple rendition of a brain, colour washing through it to indicate activity and barely comprehensible information scrolling unendingly down the side.

It was a live stream from the RDA's new semi-human, one Harry Potter.

The week they'd had the boy in hospital had been more than long enough to take samples and implant a few security features. A homing beacon, which could be triggered remotely. A standard miniature health monitor, which would contact emergency services should any of a half-dozen biological processes show signs of failure.

A not-so-standard cranial net, implanted under his scalp and over his skull, constantly monitoring the most fascinating aspect of the boy. His brain.

It wasn't even the simple fact that his brain was slightly _different_ than normal that had their chief expert, Dr Maudlin, so enraptured. It was that the entirety of his brain showed persistent activity, with inexplicable surges that seemed to have neither cause nor affect in various areas.

The brain being such a tricky thing, it was nigh impossible to test properly without the boy's consent.  
  
Failing that, his ignorance would have to suffice.

Another sheet held a brief list of what the researchers assigned to the boy's history had found. Handily, the boy himself had added the contents of his books to his computer. The history books had been the most immediately useful but all Phil needed to know right now was contained in one curt list.

There once had existed a sentient, humanoid species on the planet which could do 'magic'. They no longer existed, save for Harry.

And Harry was very aware of his vulnerable situation

Excellent.

_Earth_

The Muggles had colonised other planets.

Harry lay sprawled on his couch, staring at the lounge's large television with an expression probably pretty close to Dudley's whenever _he_ watched telly.

Stupefied.

But really, who could blame him? Michael had been watching some kind of documentary channel when Harry woke up and after a quick wash and losing a battle with a breakfast machine (why did it always produce soup??), he joined him just in time to catch the next show, a history of man's exploration into space. He’d been looking for a distraction from the pit of grief and anger inside him and boy had he found one.

They had colonies on the moon _and_ on Mars! Mostly for the few workers on the factories and mines respectively, but still. In only one and a half centuries, human beings were living on another planet! Two, in fact, as the show continued and Harry's barely-touched soup cooled. There was a planet - or maybe a moon, he wasn't sure - around 4-something light years away that also had a small colony of miners on it. The photos of _that_ were incredible.

Real, actual, alien life on another world. Amazing!

The show glossed over the living planet rather more than Harry thought warranted, considering the detail it had gone into for the uglier colonies on the moon and Mars, but maybe that was just because the one on Pandora was so new? According to Michael, it took six years to travel there, even at the speeds their interstellar ships were capable of. It used to take a couple of decades, before unobtanium was discovered, mined and refined - some sort of super-ore that was only found on Pandora. Harry hardly cared about that, save that its existence made getting to Pandora easier and faster. When he asked about how much it cost to go there, though, Michael almost busted a gut laughing.

“Every grunt and their mother wants to get _off_ that rock and _you_ want to _go_!” He chuckled. “Though I guess, from here, it _is_ pretty exciting.”

Harry sat up to face him more fully.

“You've been?” He asked incredulously. The man smiled, white teeth flashing in a rare, open expression.

“Oh yeah. I was one of the first out there, which is why I got this cushy job once I rotated home. Bodyguard pays a hell of a lot more than grunt, and compared to Pandora the danger is a hell of a lot less, too.”

“What was it like?” Harry asked, pulling his legs up to cross them on the couch, completely captivated.

Michael, an arm resting over the back of the couch and one ankle crossed over his knee, considered it.

“Hot. Humid. Claustrophobic. Boring.” His pensive look melted into a small grin. “Exhilarating. Mostly of the pant-wetting variety. In between the boring bits.”

Harry couldn't help but grin back, though he rolled his eyes.

“And when you _weren't_ on duty?”

Michael snorted. “On Pandora, kid, you're never _not_ on duty. But, even if we were...” He moved one hand in a so-so gesture. “You're pretty much confined to base, which is only fun for the science geeks who actually enjoy messing around in the labs. It's a five-year rotation, plus 12 years transit time and you only get paid half-wages for the transit so by the time you get home you feel like you've lost a decade of time and only have a small bit of bonus money to show for it.”

“So, no tourist options?” Harry checked, causing Michael to grin again.

“Naw, kid. Only geeks and grunts get to go to Pandora. Sorry.”

Harry shrugged, disappointed but trying not to show it. Why had he even gotten so excited? Was it just the 'life on other planets' thing, or was it some form of escapism?

In the back of his mind, he was self-aware enough to know he was probably associating 'strange and wonderful' alien life with his exposure to _other_ 'strange and wonderful' (magical) discoveries. Being aware wasn't enough to dampen his desire to go, though.

Whatever, it couldn't be done and that was that. Well, unless he directed his re-education towards becoming a scientist or a soldier, both of which he really couldn't see himself as.

He was just trying to remember how to tell the telly to list the channels when a small chirrup sounded.

“Hub: Show door.” Michael commanded instantly. The window popped up a small secondary image showing David - freshly suited and shifting nervously - standing outside the apartment's door.

Michael relaxed somewhat, but still got to his feet and slipped back into the more professional personality he'd shown yesterday. He left to open the door, then followed David back into the lounge. Harry watched them over the back of the couch.

“Hub: TV off.” He ordered.

David offered a tentative smile. “Hi Harry. Shall we get down to business?”

Harry nodded. The night's sleep had settled him a bit, especially if he avoided thinking about everything he - and the world - had lost. It was oddly easy to just live in the moment, with only the occasional sucker punch of emotion sneaking up on him.  
  
Well, until now.

David moved around the couch Harry was on and tugged the other so it was semi-facing him, with the low table in between. He rested a slim briefcase on top, out of which he pulled the same glass-like thing he'd been using that day at the hospital. It must be some kind of mini-computer, since their watch-phones were a little too small to be useful PDAs.

“Okay.” David said briskly, tapping away on it. “Now, one of the RDA CEOs wants to have a chat with you after this-”

“What about?” Harry interrupted, honestly puzzled. They'd let him out of the hospital, where it would have been easy to keep him if they'd thought there was anything interesting about him. Quarantine, inoculations, a reported vegetative state - easy. So if they hadn't, then...

“Probably about your status as a semi-human.” David replied absently. If Harry had been drinking anything, he'd have sprayed it all over the man. “We've been keeping that aspect of you pretty hush-hush, as I'm sure you'd understand.”

He looked up finally and frowned a little.

“Is... that a problem?” He asked hesitantly, probably because if Harry looked half as horrified as he felt, he wasn't a pretty sight.

“S-semi-human?!”

David winced. “Ah. That was meant in a completely non-derogatory way, of course.” He apologised. “It's just, we don't really have a word for your species yet and your blood-work was strongly suggestive that your species _was_ an off-shoot of humanity, rather than the other way around, so...”

Harry ducked his head and waved his hands, eyes closing as he scrambled to think.

“Wait.” He said harshly. “You're telling me I'm... not human?”

David's eyebrows shot up, before he closed his eyes and made a short sound of pain..

“Oh, _please_ don't tell me you didn't know.” He groaned. “I am just screwing everything up lately, aren't I?” The question apparently rhetorical, he continued. “You're not _not_ -human, you're just... a different _type_ of human. Like..” His eyes moved as he thought quickly. “You know how people in different areas evolved slightly differently, creating different races of humans?”

Harry nodded silently. Yeah, kinda.

David smiled like he'd found the winning argument. “Right! Well your blood work basically shows _that_ , plus a little more. Too differently evolved to be considered just a different race, but not so evolved as to be considered inhuman. Just - different.”

“...Right.” Harry answered, unable to stop himself shifting slightly into a more defensive position. Why hadn't he searched for his wand last night?

“And what does my... 'difference' have to do with your CEO?” He asked suspiciously.

David blinked.

“Well..” He replied, baffled. “History, technology, culture... you name it, the RDA'd like to know about it. I mean,” he started grinning a little, as though the answer was so obvious as to be a joke. “you're not a mutant or anything. Your DNA indicates a stable, established pattern of development, which means you weren't a singular event. You have indicated yourself that you didn't set up your little resting place, and that things were added after you went to sleep, implying the involvement of others.”

He shrugged.

“And we know of no other person in the world who bears your evolutionary traits, nor is there any record of any in the time in which we _think_ you originated. So somehow a group of people existed outside of public record and had the capability to do what no-one else could - put a person to sleep for at least a hundred years and not have him age or die. We also suspect that they're the ones behind the sinking of Stonehenge and a few other unsolved disappearances.”

He grinned again, open and eager.

“Frankly, Harry - we're fascinated by you. Even if all you can tell us is defunct now, we still really want to know.”

Harry, for his part, just stared. Maybe some part of him had always believed that Muggles finding out would lead to disaster, because he found himself now struggling to grasp the fact that he wasn't already in a laboratory somewhere.

“And..” He swallowed. “And what purpose would that serve? What-” he floundered. “What could you possibly hope to gain? Power? Because-”

David eased back into his seat, setting his little computer down as comprehension softened his expression.

“You're afraid.” He said softly. “Man, I hadn't even thought of that.” He checked himself, shaking his head. “Which was stupid of me.” He admitted. “I should have. If we have no records of you, it's probably because your kind were in hiding. Which would logically lead to a disinclination to be discovered.”

He rubbed a hand over his face and grimaced apologetically.

“I'm sorry. Again. But seriously, you don't need to worry. Although we're burning with curiosity, we wouldn't have gone to all this trouble” he waved a hand at Michael, the apartment, Harry himself “if that curiosity was the creepy illegal type.”

And, despite himself, Harry believed him.

Because he was right. As Harry himself had thought earlier, there were many ways in which they could have easily spirited him away from the hospital. But they hadn't.

And even though his first reaction to being discovered was still pretty close to outright alarm...

Well. What could it hurt? There were no Wizards to punish him, or to be exploited by Muggles. And even _he_ was essentially neutered - assuming he could even find his wand - by the dying planet.

He swallowed.

“Okay.” He said softly. David looked relieved.

“Great. And, uh, when you do have that chat... maybe try to down-talk this whole foot-in-mouth thing I've got going on? I've got a review coming up.”

_Earth_

They didn't take a car this time. David led them down to the tenth floor, which looked sort of like a glitzy subway station, except instead of walls papered in ads, there were walls covered in glowing _holographic_ ads.

The liaison led the way to a small oval bubble-like pod, made of some sort of dark and shiny plastic. It opened automatically as they approached and David was quick to close it behind them again - right in the face of a startled woman.

Inside the pod was an oval, one-piece seating area which faced outwards. David leaned over it to tap at something in the center, then collapsed onto a well-padded seat with a sigh. Harry sat down two seats over and was vaguely surprised when Michael sat next to him, instead of looming off to the side.

Then the pod was moving, and the world lit up.

It was...

Incredible.

The carpet of lights he'd seen from his apartment was now more like an ocean. Above, below, around - everywhere he looked, images swum and glittered, words flickered and blurred together, a flock of blazing white doves morphed into a frothing, blue-green wave crashing against a golden beach.

It was crazy, and nonsensical and kind of garish. And yet, he couldn't take his eyes off of it.

David touched his arm once or twice, getting his attention. He pointed out a two-story woman on the other side of the pod, who leaned close enough to touch and pressed a perfect kiss to the outside of the plastic.

Harry swallowed. Her breasts had been... very realistic-looking.

A branded burst of cloud above them rained diamonds the size of his head. An ocean of bubbling-black pepsi-cola beneath their feet made him briefly nauseous. Some kind of animated cat bounced and sang silently. A smiling blonde woman placed a sparkling mask over a small, smiling blonde child. A tall man who shuddered and flickered, tossed a pointed ball into the air and stared at a point half a foot to the left of Harry's eyes.

By the time the pod slid smoothly into the dark cavern of another building, he was thankful.

The wonder had somewhat faded, buried under sheer sensory overload. Even now, as the pod slid to a halt and the three of them stood, he couldn't help but blink his eyes against the glowing lines remaining in his vision.

“You okay?” David checked, smiling a little, like Harry was either confusing or cute.

“Fine.” Harry asserted firmly. He was neither, thank you. David nodded and lead the way once more as Michael fell back to shadow Harry.

The room they were in looked like a foyer, with a dozen black openings around the outside for other pods to glide in and out of. A round desk in the centre circled a cluster of elevators, which were only accessible once the desk personnel cleared you. The woman David led them to eyed Harry with open curiosity, but said nothing as they brushed their watches against the panel she pointed at. Once in the elevator, David explained that the security system was automated. Anyone without clearance got shocked, anyone without a watch attempting to pass was detected, security was summoned and the elevators wouldn't open.

The seven or so people at the desk were mostly just there to answer the phones and direct visitors. Harry found that difficult to believe.

As their elevator climbed, flashing past layer after layer of office space, Harry had to wonder just how much business they did that they _needed_ seven receptionists on at one time.

Especially considering the foyer was _deserted_ when they'd arrived.

Before long, the elevator stopped and opened onto another large open space, this one filled with tables and chairs.

“Dining level.” David shared lowly, weaving through the mostly-empty furniture. An elderly waitress caught sight of them and hurried away. Harry followed David to an area sectioned off by potted plants. A handful of Michael-like men stood around like hired goons in crisp suits. Behind him, Harry felt his own Michael tense - a prickle of battle-ready energy at his back.

A bald man in a comfortable, expensive-looking suit stood up as the trio neared. He looked at Harry and smiled, a polite and welcoming expression. He ignored David and Michael both, holding out a hand to shake.

“Phil Maine, CEO of the Eastern division of the RDA.” He introduced himself, his large hand warm and dry as it firmly shook Harry's.  
  
“Harry Potter.” Harry replied simply, as the man stepped back and gestured for him to join him at his table. He did so, even as he noticed the bald man's other hand flick his fingers in a dismissive gesture, something David obeyed instantly by leaving and Michael ignored utterly by staying.

“A pleasure.” The man finished the greeting pattern, raising a finger to summon a waiter. “Would you care for anything? Fruit juice? Steak?”  
  
Harry hesitated, but the bland slop of breakfast _had_ left him hungry for something with actual taste.  
  
“Perhaps some juice? Any kind.” He answered politely, speaking more to the waiter than the CEO. He had sort of picked up the idea that in this time period, real food was an expense - and he didn't want to go and order orange juice or something and then later find out that orange trees were endangered.

“Same again for me.” The CEO ordered. The waiter thumbed a thin bit of plastic the way Dudley used to text on his mobile phone - though the waiter did it with rather more dexterity - and left.

Harry glanced down at the large-ish sheets of plastic littering the tabletop. The transparent material seemed to be a replacement for paper, with each slip being interactive and digital and displaying all manner of things... but then why have so much of it? Why not just use one sturdy multipurpose one like David did?

“How do you like your apartment?” Phil asked suddenly. Harry looked up, feeling a bit awkward. His apartment suddenly felt like a very expensive gift, particularly now when faced with the giver.

“It.. it's good.” Harry said weakly. “I, er, like the plants.” He rallied a bit. “And the tv-window thing - that's pretty cool.”

There was a pause. The waiter returned with two cold-frosted glasses containing a yellow-pink liquid, set them down and then left again.

“Uh, thank you.” Harry added, wincing a little internally. He sounded like an entitled little snot, or an ungrateful one at the very least.

“I can pay you back for it, I think.” He continued, whilst wondering if he actually could. If the world really was circling the toilet, an apartment in a building with aquarium walls and an indoor garden surely wasn't cheap.

“Oh no, no.” The CEO dismissed him, sounded a little more at ease himself now that they were talking about money. “A little place like that is good write-off for taxes. Besides, inflation what it is right now - I'm not too sure you could, son.”

“I have... some money.” Harry protested. “I don't know how much, but...”

“You had some gold and gems, according to the official report.” Phil interrupted, tapping one of the sheets of plasti-paper next to him. “Quite a good chunk of it too, but I'm very sorry to say that they just don't hold the same value now that they did in the 20th century. They have more value as belongings of _yours_ than they do as raw materials in today’s commodity market.”

Harry deflated a little. It was one thing to _wonder_ if he had enough money - it was another to _discover_ that he really didn’t. He found himself chewing his lip slightly, eyes lowered as he rapidly recalculated the situation.

“Son, it is not our intention to be threatening or intimidating.” Phil continued, perhaps seeing the tension in him. Despite his words, his tone was strong - almost overbearing. “But the fact of the matter is, you _need_ the RDA. You're alone here, in this time. By your own admission, nothing remains of your old world. We will gladly provide you with a home and education as part of our civic duty, but if you'd consent to helping us out a little in return, we'd gladly compensate you with a generous stipend. You wouldn't ever need to work, if you so wished.”

The CEO paused, looked at him thoughtfully.

“It could be that you're worried that if you admit to being different from normal humans, we'll have you cut open in a lab before you can blink.” He said calmly. Harry flinched.

The man chuckled.  
  
“Son, I don't know what sort of things went on in your time, but we're a bit more advanced in this day and age. We already know that there's something about your DNA that isn't like everyone else. We also already know we can't replicate it. And there is _nothing_ that cutting you open would solve.”

He leaned forwards, hand clasped together on the table. Harry sat back a little.

“We just want to _learn_ about you, about your history and your people.” The man continued cajolingly. “It could be that what you know or what you can do can help us now or in the future. It could be that it can't. But regardless of that, or when you were born or your genetic makeup, you are still a citizen and have every right as such. We'd really like it if you could help us out, but we don't have any right to _demand_ it. All we can do is ask - and offer incentives.”

Harry sat completely back and wrapped his hands around his glass of juice. What the man across from him was saying sounded really good on the surface, but...  
  
There was just _something about him_ that rubbed Harry the wrong way. Something in the way he spoke too much, maybe. Something in the practiced body language but awkward words - though that might be just a total lack of needing to speak to teenagers prior to now.

Still, whatever was putting his back up, the fact remained: Harry _wasn't_ in a lab somewhere, being promised freedom in exchange for co-operation. He was in a nice apartment, fully set up with access to food and education and being promised _extra money_ for co-operation. He had been assigned a bodyguard who, despite working for the company, was dedicated enough to ignore one of the CEOs silent commands and stick around.

Maybe they were trying the 'honey over vinegar' approach, but the fact that they were even doing _that_ was a point in their favour, surely?

And, in the end, what did Harry really have to lose in cooperating? Maybe, by sharing what little he knew of the situation, he could even _help_ \- even if it was only adding impetus to the Muggles' own attempts to reverse the damage they'd caused.

Lifting his glass, he took a slow sip. It was a weird mix - something like pineapples and maybe strawberries or raspberries. More sharp than sweet.

“I was born in 1980.” Harry said slowly, glancing from the plastic sheets to Phil Maine's sharp eyes.

“When I was eleven, I was invited to attend a boarding school for Witches and Wizards.”

The man's eyebrows went up slightly, more in encouragement than surprise or disbelief.

“We learned all sorts of things.” Harry continued carefully, testing his way along. “How to make potions that could re-grow all the bones in a limb overnight. How to turn someone into an animal. How to turn someone inside out.”

He stopped, watching the CEO's expression. The man had years of experience over him, though. Harry couldn't read anything.

“We were a pretty small people, I think.” He changed the subject a little, skirting the more violent aspects of magic. “We were hidden from the normal world by law, but we were governed by a ministry that was _technically_ part of the Muggle - the normal - government. I think. In reality, though, our ministry did whatever the hell they wanted.”

“You sound a little bitter.” Maine noted, leaning back himself and taking a sip of his own juice - apparently enjoying it more than Harry had.

“Well.” Harry said quietly. “Corruption and incompetence were rife, though I didn't realise it till recently.” He frowned. “I-I mean..” He stumbled over the words, as his treacherous brain reminded him that 'recently' was over a century ago and the ministry would never again be a problem.

“I know.” Maine said quietly. “Please, continue.”

Harry took a deep breath and obeyed.

“When... before I went to sleep. Like, just before. We were in a war, sort of. Not all-out like with armies and such, but there was a man who had a large group of followers and every one of them was as murderously evil as the next. They considered Wizardkind to be the supreme beings of the world and resented having to hide. They wanted the Muggles to either serve them or die or.. or something. I don't know. They didn't exactly put out a pamphlet.”

The CEO's lips twitched.

“Not the most organised of terrorists?” He asked wryly. Harry looked up, considered, and smiled.

“No.” He agreed. “But, maybe that was the way Voldemort wanted it. All 'pureblood' this and 'filthy Muggle' that - nobody actually thinking about it, just obeying in the expectation that whatever they personally wanted would end up happening.”

He shook his head.

“Anyway. This sort of thing was apparently normal for Wizardkind. The Wizards - in England, at least - were very insular. Not just living in secret but living entirely separate from the normal world. Their magic made everything easy - even the poor could live well, if not extravagantly - so they never really had much need to advance. Whilst the outside world made strides towards social self-improvement - using other nations as allies and competitors - the Wizarding world just got more and more narrowly focused until they were basically blind to anything other than themselves.”

He was drawing heavily from Hermione's rants, by this point. Once the 'war' had heated up, his best friend had been quick to point out that killing Voldemort would only stall it. Her passionate assertions that the _real_ conflict was in their society _breeding_ such extremists had fallen on mostly deaf ears.

The Wizard-raised really were a simple people at times. Good and Evil were reason enough for people to do what they did, now pass the pumpkin juice if you please.

Anyway, all that was neither here nor now. Literally.

“I ended up destroying Voldemort, with a type of magic that only I could access.” Harry admitted in a rush. “And from what I understand, the leader of my side of the war had a contingency plan in place for when I did. Because I was the only one who could access that special power, I was...”  
  
“Put on ice.” Mr Maine concluded. “For the next time some evil Wizard showed, I'm guessing?”  
  
Harry nodded slowly, watching the man more closely than ever. This would be the time when he'd most expect to be carted off by needle-happy scientists.

“So why did you wake up now? Or was it our interference that caused it?” The man continued thoughtfully.

“It could be.” Harry shrugged, unnerved by the man’s almost disinterested tranquility. “Although I'd wager that the only reason you even found me was due to the concealment spells failing. And they failed because...”

He hesitated, then continued. He wanted all cards on the table, right now. He didn't want to live in paranoia, always watching what he said just in case he hit the tipping point that got him locked away.

“Because all the magic in the world is failing.” The words felt like rot, falling from his lips. It felt like there should have been some sort of leach of colour in the world around him as he spoke, some acknowledgment of the horror of what he was saying.

The CEO took another sip of his juice.

Harry continued, speaking faster now, angry at the man's apparent unconcern.

“Magic is more than just a force we used to change the world and each other - it was more than glamours and sentient plants and unicorns and dragons - magic was... _is_...”  
  
“'The excess energy of a thriving world.'” Maine recited calmly. “Or, so my top scientists have theorised... _after_ being convinced that no, seriously, magic is real.” The man cracked a small grin, inviting Harry to relax a little. But, on this topic, he just _couldn't_.

“That's right.” He replied sharply. “The _excess_. Extra energy that wasn't needed for anything else. But, something happened to the world - something upset the system and the world stopped making excess energy, or rather - it started using everything it had just to survive.”  
  
“And so the plants and animals of the world that needed that energy to survive - including Wizards - started dying, huh?” The man concluded again, as though he knew the subject just as well as Harry himself - or better.

“How do you..?” Harry began to ask. Maine just shook his head sympathetically.

“We've seen this before, son. Over and over. Somewhere in the world, something happens. I dunno, a heavy rainfall causes a lot of plants to grow. Or flooding leaves lots of patches of still water. Suddenly, all the plants and animals that feed or breed in that water don't have to fight for space anymore. Suddenly they have all the food and breeding space they could want, and their population skyrockets.

This might happen for only a season or it might go on for years, but one year the rain _doesn't_ come. The floods don't repeat themselves. The water is all used up or dries out and suddenly there's _too much_ life trying to exist on too little resources. Most of that life just dies out.”

Harry stared at the man, wondering if he was honestly trying to sell the _extinction of his race_ as just 'one of those things that happens'.

“Aren't you worried?” Harry blurted, unable to hold it in.

“About what?” Maine raised an eyebrow.

“About your own lives - your own species!” Harry stood sharply, his chair sliding back in a shower of angry red sparks that he didn't even notice.

Everyone else did.

“My kind died first, but _yours_ will follow us eventually!” Harry raged. “You might not need the energy of the world to survive, but almost everything else on the planet _does_! Trees, animals - your food and air and drinking water are all part of a system that is _dying_ , do you understand?”

The man just looked up at him, inhumanly calm - even a little bored.

“Yes, I do.” He replied quietly. “Quite a lot of us 'Muggles' do, in fact. Oh, we might not use the words 'magic' or 'energy', but we know very well that our planet is dying. We know that it has reached the point where it struggles to maintain basic ecological systems - we have survived as long as we have because we can build our own. We can import energy, in a way, to our world. It might not enter the planet, but it enters the systems that keep us alive.”

Harry swallowed tightly and sat back down, not even realising that Michael had pushed his chair forward for him.

“Don't you care?” He whispered. “Don't you care that the world is dying?”

The CEO was expressionless. Harry waited for an answer that never came.

“Then what do you want from me?” He asked finally, utterly defeated. “That power I can access is nothing more than the energy of the world - not the excess on the surface, but the core of it. Pulling from it now will only kill it faster. There's nothing I can do to _fix_ this, not that you apparently even _want_ to. So what do you want from me?”

Silence, then:  
  
“I would like for you to continue living.” The man answered at last. “I would like for you to learn as much about this new world as you can. I would like for you to work with us in the future, to hopefully find a solution that neither of us has right now.”

There was another silence. Harry just felt hollow now, resigned. He may have slept through his people's death, but it seemed to be only a matter of time before he joined them. Then, only the Muggles would be left - clinging to a dead rock in space, kept alive by their technology, their caricature of cleverness.

The man shifted a little, adjusted his expression into something resembling kindness.

“Try not to worry about it for now.” He said soothingly, voice deepening. “The world might seem a bleak place, compared to what you're used to, but really we've made some pretty good strides towards repairing it already. Get McGregor to show you the Eco Activist Network - they've got a lot of groups working on preservation and restoration. Once you've settled in, you might find an area you can really make a difference in.”

The CEO stood then, adjusting his suit and collecting his little plastic files. Harry just watched him, caught somewhere between utter contempt and bleak disinterest.

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today, Mr Potter.” The man said formally, his bodyguards shifting around him in preparation to leave. “If there's anything else I can do for you, just let McGregor know.”

Harry watched him leave, angry and upset and apathetic all at the same time.

David sidled back into view, visibly anxious.

“So, how'd it go?” He asked.

Harry closed his eyes and the glass held loosely in his hand shattered spectacularly.

“Oh.” David said faintly. “That good, huh?”

Harry sighed, trying to ignore the juice soaking into his jeans.

“I just wanna go home.” He muttered. He opened his eyes to David's understanding expression.

“Home it is.” His liaison agreed, helping him up and brushing the fragments of glass to the floor, quickly checking his hand for cuts before leading the way to the exit. Harry didn’t correct the man as to what he meant by ‘home’.

He followed David silently out through the still-empty dining floor. The elevator that took them down was empty too, but the foyer was reasonably crowded when they exited at the bottom. Michael stepped up then, one hand wrapped around Harry's arm, the other ready to shove people out of the way (or snap their necks, whatever it was bodyguards did), following quickly behind David who skipped the queue for a transport pod and managed to snag them one to themselves again, this time to a chorus of angry voices.

The ride home was silent. The glare of holographic light made Harry feel sick, so he pulled his legs up onto the seat and tucked his head down until they reached their building.

As soon as they reached his apartment, Harry nodded apologetically to Michael and David both and went to his study, locking both men out. Alone inside the large room, he crossed to his desk and sat down behind it, eyeing a holographic image protected above the black glass surface. It was a replica of Hermione's letter which had, just as Harry had predicted, crumbled to dust at some point the night before.

Brushing his fingers through the intangible thing, missing the original already, Harry felt a contrary sense of peace.

There was freedom in resignation. Knowing that death was inevitable was sad, but it was also a relief. Knowing that there was nothing he could do for the world removed a weight from his shoulders that he hadn't even known was there. If there was nothing he _could_ do, then it wasn't his job. Wasn't his fault. Wasn't his responsibility, last of Wizardkind or not.  
  
He was really about five seconds away from just curling up on the couch and letting himself go, something he was barely aware of and yet somehow knew he could do. With the world like it was, even a 'special' breed of Wizard such as himself, fed directly from the core, could be cut off if he so willed it.

It was only an absent thought, a desire to see something green and living that had Harry make a command which would change his life - and the lives of everyone else on the planet.

“Hub: Show image: Pandora.” He ordered. The hub chirruped as the window-tv displayed multiple images - only one of which was the moon-planet Pandora he had intended and not various boxes, women or advertisements for perfume.

Harry stood from his desk and moved to the window, tapping the image he wanted.

“Full-screen?” He asked, smiling a little when the hub obediently flooded the entire window with the insanely high-resolution image. Now, instead of looking out over a dying world, he was looking at a slightly-stretched image of a very much alive one.

He moved to the small one-man couch, pushed it against the far wall, then sat down to enjoy the view.

“Only scientists and grunts, huh?” He mumbled to himself. He'd spent 148 years sleeping - what was six more?


End file.
